


First Date

by inber



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Cute, Drabble, Fluff, Gen, Geralt is a Total Dad, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hospitals, Humor, M/M, Minor Injuries, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24088144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: Geralt meets Jaskier in a cafe and they plan to meet for a date. Geralt feels very much out of his depth due to Jaskier's fashionable appearance, and so he enlists the help of his young daughter, Ciri, to get him a new outfit. It goes interestingly. Fluffy silly fun!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 56
Kudos: 230





	First Date

Geralt stared at the business card in his hands, upon which a phone number had been scrawled elegantly. He'd been turning the matte paper over and over in his hands for awhile. Long enough that his tea had turned tepid when he went to sip it.

He'd been getting himself a mid-afternoon treat – this particular cafe had a lovely earl grey blend – when he'd accidentally picked up an identical order at the counter. Realising his mistake, he hesitantly called out for the 'Jaskier' that the tea was intended for. The man that had glanced up, grinned, and sauntered over was nothing short of exquisite. Immaculately groomed, dressed in a suit that was somehow both weekend-casual and smart at the same time, he had fashionably tousled chestnut hair and the most strikingly blue eyes Geralt had ever seen.

Geralt was acutely aware that his old jeans had a hole in the knee, and that there was a house-paint stain on his olive-green tee'.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, “Picked up your order. Same as mine.”

“But you said my name correctly!” The gorgeous creature enthused, “And you have delightful taste, if you're drinking the earl blend here.”

Somehow they'd lapsed into conversation about tea, Geralt fumbling all the way through it, and by the time his beverage was ready, he had Jaskier's number and a lunch date next Saturday. It seemed terribly surreal. He palmed his chin, realising he hadn't even bothered to shave, and wondered if it was the silvery stubble that had attracted Jaskier, or the lopsided bun Geralt had lazily piled his hair into. Holy shit, talk about out of his league.

He glanced at his watch. The old Rolex was his grandfather's, and possibly the only expensive thing Geralt owned – and even then, it wasn't as though he'd bought it. All of his money went into his personal training business, or was spent on his daughter, Cirilla. It was almost time to swing by his ex-wife's house and pick her up for the week.

Ciri was almost eleven years old, but she was smart. Maybe she'd have some ideas about how Geralt could clean up for his date. He thought about asking Yennefer, but then he also imagined her rifling through his entire wardrobe with disdain, marching him out to store after store to 'give him a new look'. He cringed. Yennefer was once the love of his life, and now she fell into place as a best friend, but she was intolerably bossy when she was on a mission. Although Ciri took after her in many regards, he imagined the younger girl would be less likely to force him into... _Calvin Klein?_ Geralt frowned, trying to recall the name of one designer. _Any_ designer.

Christ, he was fucked.

\----------------

“Dad,” Ciri huffed, taking Geralt's hand and tugging, “Not the sale rack. They’re on sale for a reason.”

“But these are fifty percent off!” Geralt said, holding up a pair of cargo pants, “And the legs zip off, so they can be summer shorts, too.”

The face Ciri made was the same one that she pulled whenever Geralt tried to force her to eat broccoli. “Cargo pants? Dad, gross. No.”

“They have so many pockets.” Geralt murmured, “You could store so many--”

“Put them _back_.” Ciri demanded, pointing, “No father of mine wears cargo pants.”

Geralt frowned, but he did as he was told. He had asked for his daughter's opinion, after all. They'd gone through his closet together, and whilst Ciri had come up with a few decent items to wear, Geralt had still felt unsatisfied and nervous. It had been fairly easy to coax him to the mall. So far, they'd picked up a pair of black Converse sneakers, which Ciri had assured him would match with a lot of casual outfits. They were comfortable.

“Ooh!” His daughter bounced over to a pile of jeans, and Geralt followed. They'd only been at it for half an hour, but he was already tired. “These are your size, try these.”

Ciri handed him a pair of dark-wash Levi jeans, and he eyed them with skepticism. “Honey, jeans don't usually fit my thighs.”

“Duh, these have stretch in them.”

Geralt looked at the price-tag, and flinched. “Christ, they're just _jeans._ We can get some from Walmart.”

“You mean the ones where the waist is too big, so you gotta wear a big chunky belt, and then they sag?” Ciri said, “No, Dad. Just try these on, okay?”

He sighed, and threw them over his arm. Ciri grinned in triumph, and added a second pair – just in case the first were too snug. Then she began pawing through shirts.

“Those are muscle shirts, honey. They'd be really tight.”

“Da- _ad,_ ” His daughter dragged out the word, “Why do you do all that gym work and then hide your body under gross old man shirts? Boys look nice in fitted shirts.”

“Gross old man--” Geralt scowled, and then added, “You shouldn't be thinking about what boys look nice in. Boys have no manners.”

“I know,” Ciri said, “I live with you most of the week.”

Geralt grunted, about to withdraw his point, but he doubled-down instead. “Exactly. Gross, old man, no manners.”

The little girl giggled, and he let himself enjoy the sound of it, softening the edges of the shopping torture. She picked out a couple of shirts, and added them to the pile in his arms. He examined them.

“ _'I'm Your Daddy'_?” He read the cursive script on the first shirt, and quirked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you are.” Ciri beamed, “You're the best Daddy. Even if you are a gross old man.”

Geralt melted, and pulled his daughter in for a hug. “You're the best daughter. Thank you for helping me.”

Ciri squeezed around his waist. “I'll always help you, Dad. Now, c'mon. Let's see how these fit.”

\----------------

They left the store with the Levis, the muscle tee-shirt, and a new leather jacket. Overall they'd spent more than Geralt had wanted to spend, but he had to admit that Ciri made good points. The jeans fit him very well, and he only really needed a belt as an accent. The shirt was tight, but it did put his biceps on display, and he did work really hard to maintain his physique. The jacket made him look more put-together, and although he'd grumbled over the tag, Ciri had pointed out that he never spent money on himself, and it was a good jacket. It'd last.

He balanced out his guilt spending money on himself by buying Ciri a new backpack for school – she was rather taken by one that looked as though it was made out of dragon scales – as well as a new game for her little Nintendo thing that Geralt didn't quite understand.

“Where are the animals crossing to?” He'd asked in the game store, and his daughter had elbowed him. “Ouch. ...Is it like, a bible thing?”

The only thing that really mattered was that Ciri was happy. As they pulled into the driveway, he picked up their bags and the groceries they'd stopped for, giving his keys to his daughter so she could unlock the front door. He placed the outfit packages on the end of his unmade bed, and toted the food into the kitchen.

“Spaghetti tonight?” He called out.

“If you try and hide squash in the sauce again, I'll know!” Ciri yelled back, from her room.

Geralt smirked as he unpacked the groceries. Fine, then. He'd hide cauliflower.

\---------------- 

Saturday came too quickly. He showered after a morning session with a client, let Ciri brush and dry his hair nice and straight – she said it looked better down – and then dropped her off at Yen's house. Usually he'd stay and chat, but he wanted to allow time to have a small mental breakdown before meeting Jaskier. He kissed Yennefer on the cheek and promised he'd pick Ciri up on Monday afternoon, as usual.

When he got home, he took the clothes out of their bags, and dressed. Carefully, he cut the tags off, and tried not to wince at the gesture of commitment. He stood in front of the mirror, tilted his head this way and that, fussed with pulling his hair up or down, and eventually decided that Ciri knew better than him. _Hair down, jacket loose, don't act like a dork._ That had been her advice.

“Hey, Jaskier.” He practised in the mirror, “Oh, _hello_ , Jaskier. Jaskier! How are you?”

How long had it been since he dated? He and Yen had split when Ciri was very young. She was now in a happy relationship with a man named Eskel, who Geralt had grown to respect. Geralt hadn't been able to settle, though. If he thought about it, the last date he'd been on was probably... three, four years ago?

“Fuck.” He told the mirror. Checking his watch, he realised that he needed to leave now, or he'd be late. Taking a deep breath, he squared his large shoulders, grabbed his keys, and tried to imagine that he was a confident man. Project it, and it will be so.

He drove to the cafe with white-knuckles on the wheel.

\---------------- 

Jaskier was waiting, and Geralt felt bad, even though he was technically on time. He recognised the other man even though he had his back to him. He was dressed in jeans, too, which made Geralt feel better. His coat was fitted and made of some kind of red velvet, and his ass--

 _Focus,_ Geralt told himself. He thought about that projection, and strolled over, tapping Jaskier's shoulder.

“Hey.” He said, and then remembered, “Jaskier. Hello.”

The slightly shorter man turned. “Geralt! Oh, it's lovely to see you again.” He wrapped his arms around Geralt in a friendly hug, and Geralt got a whiff of his aftershave, spicy and heady.

“You too.” Geralt managed, and then his brain sort of blue-screened. “Um.”

“Let's sit.” Jaskier took a few steps away, and then turned again.

It was then that he truly noticed Geralt's outfit. He took in the well-fitted jeans, the leather jacket, and then he read the text scrawled across the bigger man's pectorals. “Oh.” He squeaked, colour rushing to his cheeks, “Oh _my._ ”

“Jaskier?” Geralt reached out a hand, “You look... you don't look well.”

“I'm fine!” Jaskier blurted. Then he took a step towards the seats, and promptly swooned like a starlet from the 1920's, falling to the floor in a faint. Geralt lurched forward to catch him, but he was half-a-second too late; Jaskier's head connected with the corner of a table, and blood began to pool on the ground immediately.

“Fuck,” Geralt hissed, and pointed at a gawking bystander, “You! Call an ambulance, _now_.” Then he bent down to administer first aid. “Jaskier? Jaskier, can you hear me?”

\---------------- 

Some time later in the emergency room, Geralt's name was called. The waiting lounge was cold, and he'd zipped his jacket halfway up. Eagerly, he stood, and followed the nurse to a small room. Jaskier was sitting up, a bandage wrapped around his head, now clean of the worst of the blood.

“How are you feeling?” Geralt ventured, looking concerned.

“Like the biggest idiot in the world.” Jaskier admitted, “I skipped breakfast, and then, um, that _shirt._ I wasn't prepared.”

“What shirt?” Geralt asked, and then went to unzip his jacket.

“No, no _no,_ I am not ready to see it again. Lord, Geralt. If you wanted to murder me, there are kinder ways to do it!” But Jaskier was smiling.

Geralt looked lost. “I... murder you? My daughter, she... well. Look, when we met, I saw how you were dressed, and I saw on your business card that you import European clothing, and I kind of _panicked._ Most of my clothes are athletic stuff. So I asked my daughter to go shopping with me.”

A light hit Jaskier's eyes. “How old is she?”

“Ten years and eleven months, in her words.” Geralt said.

Jaskier began to laugh. He clasped Geralt's forearm, giggling until the bigger man started to worry that the head trauma was worse than expected. His concern must have shown on his face, because Jaskier tried to compose himself.

“Oh, forgive me. This is both the best and worst first date I've ever been on. Am I correct in guessing that you might not have dated in awhile?” Jaskier wiped his eyes.

Geralt felt his cheeks colour. “That obvious?”

“A little bit. I have a few, um, _things,_ to teach you. But first, you need to know that I asked you out because I liked what you had to say, and because you're absolutely gorgeous. You could wear a toga made out of a bed-sheet for all I care, Geralt. I don't judge people for what they wear. It's my passion, but it's not everyone's passion.”

“Oh.” Geralt bit his lower lip. “Well, fuck.”

“I'm sorry for ruining our first date by nearly knocking myself unconscious and bleeding everywhere.” Jaskier said.

“I'm sorry for presuming you were shallow.” Geralt smiled, just a little. “But, um. My shirt?”

When Jaskier lowered his voice and explained everything, Geralt flushed a _deep_ scarlet, and zipped his leather jacket all the way to his throat. It was a good thing they were in an emergency room, because he felt fairly sure he might have a cardiac event. Yennefer was never going to let him live this down.

\---------------- 

By the time they reached their six month dating anniversary, Jaskier had a neat little scar on his hairline, and Geralt had a gradually improved wardrobe – and a new understanding of modern slang.

Yennefer did not let either of them live it down.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I can be found on tumblr @inber where I post drabble/general stupids.


End file.
